


Eros and Psyche

by Luna_wolf



Category: Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Beaches, Drama, F/M, Forbidden Love, Humor, I'm not sure what this is but damn it was fun to write, Kidnapping, Love Potion/Spell, Mythology References, Sex, anachronisms abound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-07-07 12:19:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15908142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luna_wolf/pseuds/Luna_wolf
Summary: The young king Arturia earns the ire of the gods, who send a certain golden archer to punish her. But after he pricks himself on the cursed arrow intended for her, chaos breaks lose.[COMPLETE]





	1. Chapter 1

King Arturia walked among her people and basked in their happiness. The assembled crowd cheered her, throwing flowers into the air before her. She waved to them in return, pride suffusing her features. 

She had stamped out hunger in her kingdom, she had beaten back the invaders, she had brought peace and prosperity to the land. Not only she was brilliant and kind, but she was also just, capable, and wise. There had never been a ruler like her before, nor would there be one of her equal after. The people basked in the knowledge that they lived in a golden age. Some had taken to worshipping her as a goddess – Psyche, mind and soul as one, for her nobility and intelligence. 

Not everyone was pleased. Aphrodite, also called Ishtar, watched all of this from a distance, and from a far less festive place – one of her own temples, now deserted and forlorn. A statue bearing her uncanny uncanny likeness stood not far behind her. Once the statue was worshipped and adorned with the finest of silks, but now it sat gathering dust. The benevolent and beatific expression on the statue’s face contrasted sharply with the disgruntled expression that the goddess herself wore. 

She watched as the people below cheered the king, the young, beautiful king who had stamped out war, hunger, and poverty. The king had provided for her people so well, in fact, that they no longer had any need to offer up prayers to the gods. Even the goddess of love was neglected, since the people were strong and secure enough to make their own decisions in the realm of romance. The temples lay abandoned, and Ishtar was deprived of the abundant offerings that strengthened her mana.

The other gods might endure this kind of disrespect, but not her. Ishtar tapped her fingers irritably. Humans need fear in order to remain pious. She had to do something to strike some sense into them and this uppity little female king.

___________________________________________

Night fell, and Ishtar waited. She had been waiting for quite some time, and her irritation grew.

At last she saw his golden form. “My sweet Eros. You’ve certainly taken your time coming. You shouldn’t leave a lady waiting in the cold dark night.”

He snorted, his red eyes flashing in the light of the moon. “Yes, you could ruin the life of some poor helpless criminal. What a shame that would be.” 

Ishtar decided to ignore that – there were more important matters at hand. “As I’m sure you’ve heard, there’s a nasty little king whose policies have utterly wrecked the flow of temple offerings. I need you to do something for me about this.” 

He laughed, lazily. “Temple offerings hold no meaning for me. The god of love requires no worship.” 

She gritted her teeth. “You still benefit from the flow of mana that the temples offer. Stop being obtuse.” 

His face grew slightly more serious, which pleased her. Even Ishtar wasn’t sure she could actually command the Archer of Desire, and she didn’t want to take the risk of finding out. 

“I respectfully request this favor from you,” she added, in what she hoped was a humble tone. It was much better to coax and persuade him to take her side rather than compelling by force. 

He sighed and shifted his quiver of arrows to the opposite shoulder. “What would you have me do now? Whose marriage should I wreck, which maiden should I debauch?” 

Ishtar grinned. It showed all of her teeth. “Who do you think? The king, of course.” 

Eros arched one golden eyebrow. 

Ishtar continued. “Arturia. She’s an uppity little minx who acts like she’s too good for everyone, and she’s taken all of the business away from our temples to boot. She needs to get what’s coming to her.” 

The archer shrugged. He was no stranger to such dirty tasks. 

Ishtar was pleased. Very, very carefully, she pulled a long thin parcel from her robe. “Shoot her with this. It is a fine arrow, and it is loaded with my worst curse – whosoever is struck with it will fall in love with the first person they look upon, but they will never see their beloved’s face again.” She grinned wickedly. “Hopefully you can get her with it when she’s near an old toothless servant. Or perhaps a beggar.”

Eros grunted in affirmation. “And what shall be my reward for completing this task?”

“The esteem and gratitude of a goddess.” Ishtar preened. 

He didn’t even deign to answer that, just gave her a long slow look. 

She sighed irritably and said, “Fine then, my payment to you I this: I will grant you one favor, anything you ask for. Within reason, of course.” She shot him a pointed glare. 

He laughed again, lazily. “Set aside your fears, your virtues interest me not at all. I will do this thing you ask.” 

___________________________________________

Eros sat on a high cliff overlooking the city. Below, the king and her retinue of knights where riding through the streets, likely off to do away with some nest of bandits. 

She was remarkably pretty, he thought. A pity she’d have to endure such a loathsome fate. Still, a job was a job, and he reached up to pull Ishtar’s arrow from the quiver on his back. 

Perhaps there was a sound in the trees or a distant noise that distracted him, because his hand slipped as he was pulling the arrow from the quiver. Fate is a strange thing. Never before had the great archer Eros fumbled with a weapon, never before did he scratch himself with his own arrows. But he did that day. 

At the same moment, a trumpet sounded, and the Archer of Desire looked up, his eyes locking on the young king’s face. 

Love happens sometimes like that, like madness. He felt it bloom within him, like a flood or a wildfire in his soul, a state from which he knew he would never recover. The arrow’s curse was indeed a potent one – he fell in love the way you do only once in your life, if you are very lucky (or extremely unlucky).

He watched, in silence, as the oblivious king and her knights rode out of the city, holding the arrow awkwardly in his hands, his blood dripping slowly onto the grass. 

“Oh,” he said. “Fuck.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The king receives a very strange offer.

Eros raged. 

He knocked things from their shelves, stormed across the room. His cat Enkidu, stared at him with sleepy eyes. 

He was in love. He’d caused the symptoms in others often enough to recognize them in himself. And this was a particularly terrible case, as one might expect from Ishtar’s cursed arrow. He couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t do anything except think of her. The king. Arturia. 

There was also the fact that the goddess of love would get to wondering why the little king hadn’t lost herself in some fit of passion over a stableboy or an elderly porter. If the king continued too long in her present state, Ishtar might take matters into her own hands, and that would be disastrous. Eros sank down and held his head in his hands. Enkidu saunted over and rubbed against him affectionately. 

Something had to be done. He’d seen her (that had been what had caused this whole mess), but she hadn’t noticed him, the only mercy in this heinous situation. The entirety of the curse hadn’t been activated yet. And it needn’t ever be, if he was careful enough.

Slowly, a plan began to take shape in Eros’ mind. A way to both shield Arturia from Ishtar’s wrath and to indulge his own desires with her. 

Oh, he could make it work. He stroked Enkidu’s fur, thoughtfully. But one thing was for certain – Ishtar could never find out.

 

One day, word came to the king and her advisors that a distant village to the east had been destroyed. Some unknown, terrible beast had flattened it, leaving only a handful of survivors who passed word to the capital about a hulking golden creature of uncertain form. 

Not long after, a village in the west met the same fate. This time, a detachment of the royal army, stationed at the garrison, was incinerated as well. The people of the kingdom began to talk anxiously among themselves about this threat that not even the king’s army could hold back, while casting worried glances up at the sky. The tragedies cast a pall over the shining splendor of the kingdom. 

Then a letter arrived at the capital, addressed to the king. She read it with a dreadful expression, then she conferred with her advisors behind closed doors for days on end. The people puzzled about what this letter could possibly contain. A rumor began that the letter represented a proposal of marriage from the entity who had caused these attacks, swearing to end the destruction…if only the king would consent to wed him.

And what was it, this creature behind these attacks, which made such a lewd offer to the sovereign of the land? An enemy ruler, a demon, a monster? Reports from the survivors varied, yet all claimed that the attacker was gold. 

After a few days and many hushed conversations, the king emerged from her long deliberations with a decision: for the sake of her people, she would consent to this marriage, her nephew would taking the throne in her place. 

The people wept for sorrow that their noble king would leave them and suffer such a horrific affront as this monstrous marriage. On the morning that the king undertook the long winding journey to the spot where her future husband insisted he would meet her, they insisted on following her far beyond the gates of the city, an entourage of tears and the gnashing of teeth. They followed her up the winding dusty road to the cliffs, tearing at their hair and rending their garments. The king walked before them, a single radiant figure clad in which, as befits a bride on her wedding day (however dreadful that wedding would surely be), no trace of sorrow or fear on her features, only a steely determination. 

When they had reached the high spot above the sea, the king and her entourage waited. Time passed, and the vast crowd began to grow uneasy and talk amongst themselves. Why was he making them wait so long? 

The king, for her part, waiting calmly, though the bright sun began to leave a redness on her cheeks. 

Suddenly a gust of wind blew in. It whipped people’s hair and tugged their garments. Stronger and stronger it grew, and parents held tight to their children’s hands so that the little ones wouldn’t blow away. 

Those few who were able to lift their eyes saw a magnificent and terrible sight – the king herself swept up in the wind, as if borne in the arms of a lover, and carried off into the wild blue sky. 

 

The wind that lifted her up into the sky was so strong that Arturia didn’t realize what was happening for a moment. When she managed to open her eyes, she was watching the sea and the cliffs and the city shrink away beneath her. 

Fear filled her, but she immediately brought herself under control. She’d had to guard her emotions so closely during her time as king that it was second nature to her. And whatever had lifted her from the cliffs didn’t seem inclined to drop her now, so instead she looked below and watched the cliffs fly by beneath her as the wind carried her up the coast. 

She approached a beautiful house set into the side of a cliff overlooking a beach – she could see the curved terraces, the wide windows open to the sea breeze. The curve of the house followed that of the cliff, so that it seemed to have been carved out of a single stone. 

The wind deposited her, very gently, onto one of the terraces. 

She straightened her dress and dusted herself off. “Well,” she said to herself. “That was odd.” 

She began to explore the place, moving from room to room. It was richly, if sparingly, appointed. Here was a dining room, here a salon, there a library, here a bedroom strangely located in a room without windows. When she walked back into the dining room, to her amazement it was covered in a lavish meal. A single chair sat before the table. 

Arturia felt her stomach rumble. Hopefully the owners of this strange place would forgive her if she started her meal before they arrived. She ate her fill, then went to wash her face. When she returned, the table was clear of all dirty plates. 

Strange. She went out on the terrace to look at the sun go down. She wasn’t sure what she was doing here or who had brought her here, though she was certain it was related to the mysterious entity who had demanded her hand in marriage. 

As it become darker, she went inside. This strange place seemed to have everything she could ever want – except a lamp. 

Well, there wasn’t much else to do. She went to the rack she’d seen earlier and drew a wooden practice sword from it. She’d have given half her kingdom for a real one, here in this unknown and probably hostile place, but she’d accept this one for now. 

She returned the windowless room with the bed. It was the logical place to sleep, and defensible as well – no one could climb in silently through the windows, instead they’d need to utilize the door. She laid the sword down next to her bed and fell into the light sleep she’d perfected on long marches in hostile territory. 

The creak of the hinges woke her. Silently, she reached for the wooden sword next to the bed as a set of footsteps padded along the floor. She tried to gauge the sound, determine the closeness, and then swing her sword up just in time to-

Success. She felt the wood connect with something that seemed as dense as a human head. The cry of pain confirmed her suspicions. 

She leapt up on the bed, still brandishing the ridiculous wooden practice sword. “Answer me! Who are you?” God, it was dark – she couldn’t see a thing. 

The figure below groaned, and in a remarkably human sounding voice, said, “Your husband.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arturia comes to terms with her new husband.

Arturia nearly dropped the sword in her shock. She carefully placed it on the floor before hastening to the fallen figure. “I’m…I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I wasn’t…ah…expecting you and-“

She didn’t know much about the niceties of marriage, but that seemed the right sort of thing to say when one has just clobbered one’s husband. It occurred to her that he _had_ taken her here via a gust of wind and left her with no explanation in an empty house, so really she wasn’t sure what he expected to happen when he crept in like a robber in the night, but now didn’t seem like the polite time to bring such a thing up. 

“Unhand me, women,” she felt the figure roll over and sit up. The voice really did sound quite human, and the tone and timbre couldn’t have come from the kind of hulking monster or demon that she’d imagined. She felt what must surely have been a human shoulder under her hand – likely one belonging to a young man. The form pulled away from her and gave a groan of pain. “I shouldn’t have left those damn wooden practice swords there.”

“It probably would have gone worse if you’d left out real ones,” she remarked blithely. 

She couldn’t see his glare, exactly, but she felt it scorch her flesh. She added hastily, in her best formal king voice, “I thank you for the hospitality of your home and the fullness of your generosity. I honor you as my husband, and…oh God, I suppose you’re here to fulfill your husbandly duties.” She _was_ a bride on her wedding night. Her mouth suddenly felt very dry, and her hands began to shake. 

“That was my plan, until you decide to scramble my brain.” She heard the sound of a hand rubbing a head. “I found I’ve lost my appetite. Besides, I wouldn’t consummate this marriage with you while you lay there gritting your teeth. I am not some unpleasantry to be endured, I am an experience to be longed for.” 

Relief flooded Arturia, and she tried not to let it show in her voice. “Then let us introduce ourselves,” she said, quickly changing the topic “I am King Arturia of-“

“I know who you are.” 

Arturia blinked. She didn’t know much about marriage, it was true, but this wasn’t how things went in the epic tales and poems she was used to. “I suppose you would. May I know your name?”

“No.” 

Arturia frowned. If it was a demon who had taken her, he really was an annoying one. Still, the voice did sound human. She squinted in the darkness, trying to get a look at him. “”Perhaps you can tell me where to find a lamp, so I can see you properly.” 

“No. There aren’t any here.” 

She gaped at him, though the effect was somewhat lost in the pitch blackness. “Why can’t I look upon you? Are you of…unconventional appearance?”

“Ha! I am the most radiant being on heaven or earth. No. You simply have no need to see my face. That is all.” She felt him settle underneath the sheets next to her. “Now we’re going to sleep. You humans are so fond of that after all.”

An unsettling note to end on, but nothing she wasn’t prepared for. Well, there didn’t seem to be much else for it. She lay down as well, her whole body tense. She didn’t know what to expect of this unseen man – her husband, now. Every fiber of her being was on guard against him. 

His breathing quickly eased and lapsed into the slow rhythms of deep sleep. Hearing him drift off, she began to relax a little, and allowed herself to doze. She’d had such a long day after all….

_________________________________________________

Eros awoke early. After all, he had to go about his work of entrancing young – and not so young – people to fall in love with each other. 

He was disappointed with the way the night had gone. Finally he had Arturia alone, and he had very little to show for it. His irritation at being clubbed over the head had overcome the rush of feverish delight he felt at being near her again. Still, she didn’t seem inclined to fall into his arms in the way he would have liked. 

He was puzzled with himself as well. He’d never had any compunctions about using his arrows to make the women (and sometimes men) he desired fall in love with him, but something had stopped him from doing this to Arturia. It would be so easy – a mere prick, and she would be wild for him – but the thought of compelling her with one of his arrows was obscene somehow. 

He opened the door, which let in a shaft of light. He could see her tangled in the sheets, as far as possible from the side of the bed where he’d slept. Her blonde hair was in disarray, and her sleep seemed fitful. To his annoyance, he felt his heart swell at the sight. Love was a strange disease. 

He wished – an unfamiliar feeling; since when did Eros merely wish? – he wished he had been able to light a lamp, if he could have, he would have been able to see her green eyes, the ones that haunted his dreams.. But to do that would be to activate the second part of the curse – and when you look upon each other, you shall never see each other’s faces again.

How Ishtar would accomplish that curse, he didn’t know, but he didn’t want to find out. He had Arturia now, and he wouldn’t risk losing her over such nonsense. 

He flew out into the morning sun. 

_________________________________________________

 

He was gone by the time she woke. She rose, and went to the dining room. The table was once again spread with a rich assortment of food, and this time Arturia ate her fill without waiting for anyone else to appear. 

She set to exploring the house on the cliffs more thoroughly. She found a room full of books, with parchment and ink as well. She wrote a letter to her regent, explaining that she was well, though stuck in a strange and remote place. She entrusted the letter to one of the messenger pigeons she found in a coop on one of the patios. She watched the bird wing its way to her distant kingdom, then turned her attention to the books. There were a lot of them, more than she had ever seen. Books were rare in her kingdom, but Merlin had taught her how to read and write, and so she skimmed over the various titles - the Iliad, the Odyssey, the strange tale of a Sumerian king. The latter caught her attention, and so she spent the morning reading about King Gilgamesh, who tyrannized the people of his native Uruk until the gods send a man of clay to stop him. 

At noon, she went back into the dining room to find the table full of food once again. The afternoon she spent practicing her forms with the wooden practice swords and exploring the beach below, which was reachable by a long staircase carved into the rock. The sand was fine and cool beneath her toes, and she marveled at the sight of a horseshow crab scuttling along the waterline. 

She found a hot scented bath waiting for her back in the house. She washed herself slowly, relishing in the way that the heat softened her tense muscles. By then it was evening, and she ate from the mysteriously replenished table before retiring to the windowless bedroom. This time she did not bring one of the practice swords with her. She merely lay in the bed, staring at the ceiling, as thoughts swirled in her mind. When she heard him enter the room in the dark of the night, she was ready with a question.

“Why did you attack my kingdom?” 

His voice was unconcerned. She felt the weight of a body – again, it seemed like such a human body – press down on the bed. “It seemed like the quickest way to get you to listen.” 

She was incredulous. “To listen when you demanded marriage with me?”

“Yes,” he said simply. 

“You didn’t give me much of a choice,” she growled. 

“Oh, I did, as I recall – to accept my marriage proposal or to cope with further attacks on your kingdom. That is the precise definition of a choice.” 

“People died.”

“Did they?” He sounded only vaguely troubled, 

“Yes.” She tried to calm her anger, then said, “You must allow me to direct funds from my dowry to repair the damage done to the villages and resettle the refugees.” 

“Of course,” she felt the shift of air from a lazy hand wave. “An odd way to spend your money, but if that’s what you wish to do, I accept it.” 

“I’ll need to communicate with my former advisors and regent via letter.” 

“Why do you think there are writing materials in the library and messenger pigeons in the patio?”

That had been easier than she’d thought. She felt something in her heart ease. She still didn’t quite trust this unseen stranger – her new husband – who had caused so many problems for her kingdom. But she was pleased that he wouldn't prevent her from maintaining a connection to her former life. Perhaps there was a way forward from all of this. 

She wondered if he would try to consummate the marriage that night, but instead he merely fell asleep. 

He was gone the next morning, once again. She found the pigeon she’d sent off the day before pecking around one of the patios, bearing a reply from her anxious regent. She wrote a long reply, detailing her plan to resettle the refugees from the attack. She wrote other letters as well, to other knights and advisors. 

Slowly, she settled into a routine. In truth, she began to enjoy the solitude of her new state as the days, then weeks began to pass. She’d always been a solitary person, a fact that had never changed throughout her arduous reign. It was good to spend time alone, reading, writing letters, and practicing her sword forms above the blue ocean, to do what she wished to do and to think the thoughts she wanted to think. 

And in the nights, her faceless husband came to her. 

They talked, at first a little, then increasingly. She told him of her kingdom, and he told her of his mysterious duties to a far-off empress. She told him of the books she was reading, such as the tale of the golden king Gilgamesh, who began the story so arrogant and ended it sad and wise. Her faceless husband was so curious about this figure and so sympathetic to him that she couldn’t help but laugh and say he should take on the king’s strange name as a nickname, since he liked the character so much. Her husband, who still refused to tell her his name, wasn’t opposed to the idea. 

Slowly, she began to relax around him. Once they sparred in the darkness of the bedroom, nearly destroying a beautiful vase in the process. She’d been delighted at his strength and skill, the feel of his muscles against hers. She began to look forward to his visits. 

And then one day her curiosity got the better of her. Bolder than she ever thought she’d dare to be, she ran a hand along his chest and brought her mouth to his. It was warm, soft, a human mouth – surely. 

He kissed her greedily, and it was like a dam breaking. He flipped her onto her back, pulling her clothes away, and she helped him. His knees pushed her legs apart, and she felt something hard pressing between her legs. She guided him into her, giving a little cry as he entered her. Gods, it felt good. She heard him groan as well. She’d had little time for such things when she was running a kingdom, but now…

He began to thrust, hard and fast. He was like a starving man offered food, and his intensity might have been frightening if she wasn’t matching him so fiercely, her hips bucking to take more of his cock inside her. She felt a pressure against her clitoris, the slow but insistent swirling of a finger. She felt a pressure inside of her begin to build, and she cried out as her orgasm took her. Her climax must have pushed him over the edge, because he gripped her almost painfully as his body shook and he spent himself inside her. 

And so their nights took on a different tone. A hand on a breast, a voice murmuring in the darkness, the sweat and push and pleasure of sex. And yet still he refused to let her see his face. 

It was an imperfect happiness, but more than most people get. Perhaps that was why it wasn’t meant to last.


	4. Chapter 4

She thought about it for several nights before she brought it up to him. “Gilgamesh” (for so she called him, at first out of playfulness for his love of the Sumerian king in the text, but increasingly as a nickname) “I want us to go together to see my kingdom.” Despite the enjoyable solitude of her days, she was growing homesick, and there were certain political matters that would be best tended to in person. Besides, the harvest was coming soon and she wanted to show him the beauty and majesty of her native land. 

She felt his body tense in a way she’d never felt before. It was amazing how much of someone’s emotional state you could tell in the dark if you knew his body language well enough, even if you couldn’t see his face. “Absolutely not,” he said. 

She frowned. “Then at least let me travel there myself.” 

“No. Out of the question.” His tone brooked no argumentation…not that that had ever stopped Arturia before. 

“Why not? I might be your wife, but my choices are still my own,” She replied.

His body tensed with an aggression that slowly ebbed as he realized a show of force would not convince her. “I have powerful enemies who could pose a threat to you if we leave the protection of this place.” 

She nodded. That, she understood. She decided to switch tactics. “Then could my people come to me?”

“How many?” 

“Only two,” she said, feeling her heart rise.

He murmured a half-hearted assent, and she kissed him with joy. Over the next days, she exchanged a flurry of pigeons with the capital, and at the end, they agreed on the date

She woke early that morning, though her unseen husband was already gone. She killed time unsuccessfully, continuously glancing down at the beach until she saw two distant figures approaching on horseback. 

She ran down to the beach to meet them. The unseen magic that provided food and all manner of things in the cliff house seemed to also extend here, for there was a large table set with food. Three chairs sat at it. 

When Lancelot and Bedivere approached, she embraced them fiercely, for a moment forgetting her traditional kingly reserve. Then she invited them to sit, and told them (in abbreviated form) about her new life. They, in turn, told her about the many happenings of the kingdom, and asked her advice on an array of different matters. 

After a time, the conversation about formal matters drew to a close. The three picked at their food, and Bedivere quietly brought up the question that had clearly been plaguing him and his companion for the duration of their ride. “Your new husband, is he…is he good to you?”

She tried not to grin too wickedly as she said, “Oh yes, very much.”

“What does he look like?” Lancelot asked. 

And here Arturia was forced to admit the awkward fact that she had no idea what her own husband looked like, as he never allowed a light on when he came to see her. Bedivere and Lancelot exchanged alarmed glances. 

“My king, this could be…dangerous.” Lancelot said. 

“I’ve already said that I am safe and well,” she added, somewhat mortified at having revealed such an intimate detail of her new life. 

“I don’t mean for your physical safety. Your majesty, it is said that your sister Morgana can shapeshift. Your child with your husband, if you have one, would have royal blood and could be a direct heir to the kingdom. If such a child was fathered by one of your enemies, I don’t think I need to tell you what sort of problems that would cause.” 

Arturia shrugged off his concerns and changed the subject, but like a termite in a tree, the worry gnawed at the back of her mind long after the two knights had ridden away. Could her unseen husband, her Gilgamesh, be her wicked sister in disguise? It seemed unlikely – the stranger was very male. Nor did she think Morgan would react in the same ways to the things they did in the dark. 

She had other enemies as well, other people who had reason to wish for a claim on the throne. The idea that she’d been intimate with such a one for so long seemed unlikely, but thought still made her shiver. In any case, she thought as she watched the sun go down over the ocean that night, she had to know, for the sake of her kingdom. She prepared a few items in the dining room for use later that night, then went to bed. 

He came as he always did, when the room was completely dark. They coupled and talked a bit, and finally she heard the slowing of his breathing that meant he’d fallen asleep. Only then did she rise silently and head to the dining room, to find the supplies she’d stored there earlier that day. The small steel knife, a black rock, a bit of kindling, a bowl with oil, a wick. It wasn’t easy to strike the flint and steel to make a spark in the pitch blackness, but she managed. In a few minutes she was holding a makeshift lamp. She padded on silent feet to the bedroom.

What she saw before her was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. He wasn’t one of her enemies or even someone she’d seen before. His hair was golden – like her own – and his handsome face was softened by sleep. She felt her heart open and then catch fire. She loved him, then, and it wasn’t only the terms of the curse that sealed their hearts with an unbreakable link.

The light must have bothered him, because he stirred and opened his eyes. Arturia was shocked to see for the first time that they were a deep, unsettling red. 

Those eyes opened wider in horror as he beheld Arturia looking at him with a lamp in hand. The bond between them nearly crackled with fire. Then, suddenly, an unseen force gripped him and pulled him away. Time and space bent to let him through, and suddenly Arturia was looking at only an empty bed. 

She cried out in grief and nearly dropped the lamp. She ran from room to room seeking him, her heart throbbing with love, but he was gone. 

Some time in the early morning hours the goddess arrived. She landed on the balcony over the sea on her chariot pulled by cats, and stalked towards Arturia, who knelt despondent on her hands and knees on the cold marble. 

“I thought it was strange when I noticed those two knights lapsing into an area beyond my sight earlier today, only to reemerge back into it a few hours later,” the new arrival said, brushing back her dark hair. “So here’s is where he’s been keeping you, in this little nest he’s veiled from my sight.” 

Arturia looked up wearily. “My lady, if you might be so good as to introduce yourself-“

“FOOL!” Ishtar cried. “Do you not recognize me, Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty? I should punish you even further for your insolence.” 

Arturia was too full of grief and exhaustion to feel much fear, but she fell silent anyway, seemingly decided that discretion was the better part of valor. It is not every day that one comes face to face with a goddess, let alone one who seems very angry with you.

The goddess eyed Arturia with hate. “If I had my wish, I would have seen you fall in love with the most despicable of men. I would have made you crave his filthy caresses with every fiber of your being. And I would have ripped him away forever, so that you could never occupy the same space again. 

“When I heard the king had been spirited away by some demon of the air, I thought I was finally done with you. You were off to fritter away your life in pursuit and mourning, and I could enjoy the incense at my temples once more.” She sighed in irritation. “Instead you were carried off by a worse monster – my garbage son. And he’s been keeping you here like his little pet since that time.” Ishtar shook her head.  
“I always knew he indulged himself, and I tried to be as patient as I could, but he has outdone himself here.” 

“You wanted revenge,” Arturia whispered through dry lips. “You’ve gotten it.” She would never see him again. 

Ishtar looked at her in disgust. “Not the way I wanted. And what’s worse, my little idiot Eros has managed to knock you up. You’re pregnant.”

A jolt of shock ran through Arturia. Had she gotten with child from those nightly sessions, which were, she now realized, not liaisons with an enemy of that state but with the god of desire himself? Even as she asked the question, she could feel the truth. The tiny luminescent spark in her womb. Her daughter, yet unborn.

Ishtar was towering above her, satisfaction warring with contempt on her face. “What a delight to have you here, on your knees where you belong. I’ve looked forward to this moment, when I can finally put you out of your misery, for so long. Still,” she touched her chin thoughtfully. “I can’t be accused of directly killing my own grandchild, even if it is a filthy bastard.” 

Ishtar smirked and showed Arturia the back of her hand. Three Command Seals adorned it. “So I’ll leave the choice to you. I’ll set three tasks before you, and should you choose not to complete each one in the allotted period of time, then you will die.” 

Ishtar raised her hand, and the three seals glowed. “Now, little Psyche, once the great king Arturia, I order you by Command Seal to do these three things. Gather the wool of the golden sheep before sunset, or die. Bake me bread from the grain of Demeter’s temple in a single night, or die. Bring me a box of Persephone’s beauty, or die.”

Red light exploded around her. When Arturia woke, she was lying in a lush green field.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arturia undertakes her first task.

When Arturia opened her eyes next, she was lying in a field. 

She was puzzled for a moment, and then everything – her separation from her husband, Ishtar’s wrath, and her punishment – came rushing back. She sat up abruptly.

There were sheep around her, grazing lazily at the grass. But as she looked at them more closely, she realized that they were no ordinary animals. Their fleece was a gently glowing gold. She recalled the mission of Jason and his Argonauts, and reasoned that these animals before her must be the original source of the famous Golden Fleece. 

She recalled Ishtar’s words – gather the wool of the golden sheep before sunset, or die. It looked to be around mid-morning. Arturia thought again of Gilgamesh, whose face she had seen so briefly after so long. The curse throbbed in her heart again, nearly bringing her to tears. She touched her belly, thinking of the tiny life growing there, and rallied her strength. 

Very well. She was a king and had spent littletime around sheep, but that was about to change. She rolled up her sleeves and got to work. 

______

The sun was high. Arturia was panting. The sheep milled warily, eyeing her, stealing munches of grass now and then when they dared. She stared at them, clutching the tiny fistful of wool she’d managed to snag from one of the slower members of the herd. 

She’d only had the chance to grab that one by the scruff and use the knife at her belt to cut away a hunk of wool before the creature had kicked away from her and rejoined the herd. She’d chased it, but the sheep and its herd, having four fleet feet as opposed to her two, managed to keep a healthy distance between themselves and this apparently maniac who was out to steal their wool. The wool itself was truly wonderful, soft and warm and a beautiful bright gold, but the sheep themselves were ordinary, cantankerous herd animals. 

It was long past noon and she had little enough to show for her efforts. The shadows were slowly growing longer.

Arturia felt despair set in. Death. Ishtar said she would die if she could not fulfill the commands, and it looked as though she was going to fail the first one. Arturia had always imagined that she’d meet death on a battlefield, struck down by an enemy king. She’d never once thought of the possibility of meeting her end at the hands of an Olympian drama queen. 

She suddenly wondered what Gilgamesh was doing. She wondered if he was looking for her. 

Her heart clenched, and she turned her thoughts away from him and back to her predicament. She’d been prepared for her death since the moment she pulled the sword from the stone and took on the mantle of kingship, but she didn’t want the same for the child growing inside her. The child she had made with him. 

A voice startled her. “Ah, there you are. I thought I’d find you around here.” 

It was a male voice, but it didn’t belong to anyone she knew. She whirled around and saw a man with white hair, but a young-looking face. Curving horns nestled in that white hair, and his legs terminated in feet like a goat’s. He wore strange black-and-red clothing. 

“This is where you were the last-“ he stopped himself abruptly, waving away the rest of the sentence as though it was a peculiar smell. “Anyway, here you are.”

“And may I ask your identity?” Arturia said dryly. 

“I am Pan,” the man replied. 

Arturia inclined her head in a gesture of respect. Pan, the god of shepherds and wild places. A strange deity to meet, but after her experience with Ishtar, Arturia was willing to accept any divine eccentricities so long as they did not involve curses and death sentences. 

“Now then,” Pan said, closing one eye and gazing at her with the other. “It seems you’ve come here with a task.” 

“Yes,” Arturia replied. “I need to gather the wool of the golden sheep, or else I will die from a goddess’ curse.”

“I assume that’s Ishtar,” he said. “She’s a right bitch, that one. Anyway, back to the wool. It seems you’ve already found how hard those bastards are to catch, but look around you – the fleece is everywhere.” 

She did. So ready had she been to charge headlong after the sheep that she hadn’t noticed the many bits of wool they’d shed. She noticed a small gold cloud lodged in a thicket of blackberry bushes, then another tuft of gold beneath. And another there, by the clover and there-

She barely took the time to thank the god of wild places before she rushed to gather the wool. The sheep watched her with vague curiosity - from a distance. 

Eventually she had gathered more wool than she could easily hold. “Give it here,” Pan waved impatiently. 

She hesitated. He had helped her before, but she was slow to trust a god, especially with something of such great importance. 

He noticed the pause and added, “I’m going to spin it into yarn.” He gestured at a spinning wheel that Arturia could have sworn was not there a moment ago. 

She blinked. The idea of the god of music and nature engaged in such an activity perplexed her. “I…I thought the fiber arts were Hestia’s domain, not Pan’s.”

“It was a skill worth learning, along with cooking,” he replied, as if this did not raise more questions than it answered. Still, she handed over the wool, and went to quest for more. When she looked back, she saw the powerfully-muscled god bent over his wheel, twisting wool into yarn as skillfully as any young wife. 

By the time the sun was sinking over the horizon, Arturia was exhausted but triumphant. She held a basket that contained three balls of yarn, neatly rolled and glowing slightly. 

She turned to the god in black and red. “You have my eternal thanks.”

He shrugged. “Of course, Saber.”

Her brows furrowed. “Who is Saber?” 

“Nevermind. Someone many lifetimes removed from you.” He paused. “I’m glad I was able to find you here. Ishtar will be here soon, so I’ll be taking my leave, but…I hope to complete your quests.” She thought he smiled, just a little, before he disappeared. It occurred to her that this was a man who would move worlds for you while grumbling the whole time. 

Ishtar appeared as soon as the first stars adorned the sky. She had the self-satisfied expression of a cat who has found a bowl of cream. When she beheld the contents of Arturia’s basket – the three balls of yarn, almost mockingly perfect – her expression changed. She roared with frustration, and the sky darkened with clouds. Rain started to fall, and lightning flashed through the sky. Arturia ran, seeking shelter at the nearest building – a temple of Demeter. 

______

Emiya, heroic spirit and one-time servant watched Arturia go from behind a stand of trees. 

The rain and wind didn’t trouble him – rather, he relished the sensation, as he relished any of the rare physical sensations that he experienced. It was rare he had a body, and he welcomed even this strange one given him by Alaya for this particular mission.

He savored the pleasure he felt at having been able to intervene at this particular moment in this particular world. He generally despised his cosmic boss, but for once Alaya’s orders had mirrored his own interests. 

He watched as Arturia fled to the temple, where her next challenge awaited her. It is strange to meet a parallel version of someone you knew many lifetimes ago. He thought of another time and place – a shadow war fought in a small city in the distant island of Japan, of the brave and tragic young woman who fought alongside him. This was her, and not her. She didn’t have the memories and experiences that had made up the Saber he had loved, but when she looked at him with those green eyes…

No. These hands will never hold anything, as his prayer went. He had helped her in her time of need, given her a chance to save her own life, and that was enough. It had to be enough.

He turned and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spot the moment where Emiya tries to come out about his sexuality to Arty and it goes right over her head.


	6. Chapter 6

You may be wondering; where was Eros – Gilgamesh - through this whole thing? Was he looking for Arturia, his Psyche? Moping about in some Olympian penthouse? Forgetting her in the arms of some new fling?

No. True to form, once he’d recovered from the initial effects of the curse’s activation, he seized his weapons and descended on quarters of his mother, Ishtar. 

_____________________________________

Ishtar was bathing, attended by her ladies, when she heard a crash from the other room. “Odd,” she remarked, taking another sip of wine. It must have been one of her ill-behaved cats. 

Then she heard the guard posted outside the door to her bath shout something that was abruptly cut off. A moment later, the doors flew open (propelled by the inert form of the guard in question) and Eros, god of desire and archer of love, nicknamed Gilgamesh by his wife, strode into the room with murder in his gaze and a sword in his hand. 

Ishtar screamed. Her ladies screamed. The guard moaned in pain. 

Gilgamesh startled them into silence by smashing a nearby vase. “Give her back,” he roared. 

Ishtar had managed to cover her nude form with a nearby towel. The goddess didn’t need to ask who “she” was, and simply gazed at Gilgamesh balefully, annoyed at having been caught in such a vulnerable position. “I can’t do that. It all depends on what she does.”

Gilgamesh roared with frustration and broke a statue of a crystal bull. One of the ladies-in-waiting emitted a choked sound of grief. “What have you done to her?” 

“I merely gave her a few easy tasks.” Ishtar held up her hand, adorned with Command Seals. 

Gilgmesh knew what that meant. A thousand arrows pierced the tapestry that hung the wall opposite Ishtar’s bath. “Undo it. Undo the curse. Let me see her again,” he said, his red eyes glittering with rage. 

Ishtar shook her head. “That’s impossible. You’ll never be able to look upon each other’s faces again – the curse will prevent that, will push the two of you apart like two magnets of opposite polarities.” 

He moved swiftly to the bath, shoving aside the screaming ladies, until his face was inches from Ishtar’s. “Then fix it.”

Ishtar’s eyes were wide with fear but she stared unwaveringly at her son. “Very well. If she is able to complete all of her missions, then I will lift the curse.” She added irritably, “I hope you know what a headache it is to undo a curse, by the way.” 

“I don’t care. You’ll do it, when she completes your trials. And you will recognize her as my rightful wife.” 

Ishtar nodded, still glaring at him.

Gilgamesh prepared to leave, and Ishtar said to his retreating back, ”Why do you want her back so badly? She disobeyed you. I’m certain that you took precautions and told her that she couldn’t see your face, and look what she did. It ruined everything.”

Gilgamesh whirled and snapped, “It doesn’t matter. She is mine. Mine and none other’s. Northing can change that.” 

And with that he was swung open the great doors and left. Ishtar sighed irritably, looking around at her destroyed possessions and weeping ladies-in-waiting. “I really hate that little fucker,” she muttered.   
___________________

The temple was wonderfully dry after the torrent outside. Arturia paused for a moment at the atrium, trying to catch her breath. 

“Hello?” A woman’s voice said. A form was seated by a small fire in the temple. The woman rose to get a better look at Arturia, then cried out “Ah, it’s you!” before wrapping her in a tight embrace. 

“Oh my, you’re soaked,” the woman said. “Let’s get you dried off.” 

Despite the recognition with which she greeted Arturia, the king had never seen this person in her life. The stranger was a beautiful, curvaceous woman with long bone-white hair and strangely red eyes. They reminded Arturia briefly of Gilgamesh’s, and she wondered if perhaps there was a relation there. 

“May I ask your identity, my lady?” 

The stranger – who was no ordinary woman, of that Arturia was now certain – looked surprised, then laughed. “Of course, how rude of me.” She smiled, fixing Arturia with that strange red gaze. “I am Demeter.”

Arturia went to kneel, but Demeter pulled her back up, laughing and blushing. “Oh stop it, there’s no need for such formalities. We still need to get you warmed up after that storm.” 

The goddess led Arturia to a room where a hot bath had been drawn. Rather than leaving Arturia to her own devices, Demeter scrubbed and bathed her with maternal tenderness. Arturia, simultaneously mortified and flattered. Mercifully, the goddess allowed her to put on a set of clean, dry clothing by herself. 

“Now,” Demeter said, clapping her hands in excitement. “We’ll have dinner next, I bet you’re starving after-“

“My lady,” Arturia said delicately, “I have a set of tasks to complete, and I believe that one of them is to sort grain in your temple.” 

Demeter’s face grew more solemn. “Yes, that’s true.” 

Arturia continued, “Then I would prefer to complete this task posthaste.”

Demeter looked at her. “I can’t defy someone as powerful as Ishtar, but I swear to you that I won’t let any harm befall you here. You’ll complete the task soon, I’m certain, but first you should have something to eat. You haven’t eaten all day, have you? I bet you’re starving, I know I was hungry all the time when I was pregnant.” 

Arturia’s stomach rumbled. She had been so busy completing her first task that she hadn’t eaten anything at all. Perhaps she should have a little something to eat first, both for her own sake and for that of the child that she carried. 

After she had been stuffed with more delicious food than she thought she could hold, Demeter at last showed her to the room where Ishtar’s second task confronted her. 

The sight nearly made her weep. The grain was stacked to the ceiling, a mix of several different seeds. Under ordinary circumstances it would take a dozen servants nearly a week to properly sort them, and Arturia had only until the morning. 

It was hopeless, but Arturia settled down to complete the task anyway. Demeter sat beside her, chatting away. 

Perhaps it was the full meal, or the last hour, or simply the strain of chasing sheep in the sun all day, but Arturia found her eyelids growing heavy. Even Demeter’s constant stream of chatter seemed to lull her into sleep. She forced her eyes open and continued sorting the seeds, but she was fighting a losing battle. 

The next thing Arturia knew, sunlight was shining into the narrow room. No. She sat bolt upright, panicking. It was morning, and she hadn’t completed her task –

But then she saw the neat piles of uniform grains before her, as well as the little lines of ants faithfully moving the last of the grains to their proper place. She saw the face of Demeter as well, smiling at her. 

“How…?” Arturia began. 

Demeter’s smile widened. “I told you that no harm would befall you while you were in my care. And besides, you needed some rest.” 

Ishtar sauntered in not long after, scowling as she beheld the piles of ordered grain. She kicked one of them over like an unruly child. 

“You’ve done well enough so far, but we’ll see how your trip to the underworld goes,” Ishtar snarled on her way out. “Prepare her for the journey,” she snapped at Demeter, who nodded miserably.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arturia descends to the underworld to complete her final task.

Iriesviel was somber. “I’m sorry, my dear, I’m so sorry that you have to do this, but I’ll make sure you’re as prepared as you can be. 

Arturia recalled the nature of her final task: she must obtain a box of Persephone’s beauty. Not only must she traverse the underworld, but she also must convince a goddess to give up one of her most prized assets. How she would do that, she did not know. 

Demeter allowed her to rest and eat, and when the sun had sunk low in the sky and the evening was upon them, the goddess of fertility and abundance went with Arturia to the crack in the earth that was the gateway to the Underworld. 

Demeter turned to Arturia, her white hair shimmering in the firelight. “Three things. First – be careful with the Queen of Hell. You won’t like her. She’ll…she’ll be too much like you, I think. The second thing – here are two biscuits that you’ll need to get past Cerberus, the guard dog of the Underworld. Just throw one of them to him on your way in and then again on your way out, and his three heads will fight over them so much that he won’t even notice you going by. The third thing – here are two coins for the ferryman who will take you to that far shore.”

Arturia laughed. “Thank you, my lady.” She had adorned herself like the king she still was, putting on her crown, her mantle, her greaves. She fastened her sword around her waist and wore her best armor.

And so Arturia began her descent. She gave one coin to the ancient ferryman who waited at the shore of the dark river. As she approached the distant shore, she saw a massive shadow move and beheld the three fanged mouths of Cerberus, the guard-dog of Hell. The beast’s heads reached higher than the towers of Camelot and sniffed the air hungrily. Arturia steeled herself, and launched the biscuit as hard as she could into the air. The three heads snapped to attention, then began squabbling amongst themselves for the treat. Arturia slipped past as quickly as she could. 

She walked through many strange landscapes. She saw walls of ice, cities on fire, and other weirder things. Sometimes people seemed to call to her in an attempt to distract her from the path. But she kept going, mindful of the child in her belly and the memory of her beloved. 

She walked until she came to a gate. “If you want to pass,” the tired looking porter said. “You need to leave behind your crown. There’s only one ruler here. That is the price of passage.” Arturia nodded and handed them the golden crown on her forehead. After all, a bit of metal did not make her a king.

She continued on, until she came to another gate. “If you wish to go further, you must leave behind your sword,” this guard said, leaning wearily on his long spear.

Arturia’s hand flew to Excalibur at her side. “I cannot give this sword, it was a gift from the Lady of the Lake.” 

The guard shook his head. “We wouldn’t keep it. If you’re able to complete your quest, it will be returned to you. But in order to go further, you must give it up, even temporarily.” 

Reassured, Arturia nodded and unbuckled her sword belt. “Understood. I am certain I shall be successful in completing this quest, so I have no reservations about leaving the sacred sword in your care.” The guard nodded.

There were five more gates, and at each one the guard made Arturia give up something before she could advance further. 

At the third, she gave up her armor   
At the fourth, her heavy cloak of kingship.  
At the fifth, her gauntlets.   
At the sixth, her outergarments.  
At the seventh, her undergarments. 

(She did, however, manage to hang onto the biscuit and the coin, which she knew she would need on her way out of here.) 

And then, at last, stripped of all her earthly symbols of rank, she found herself face to face with the Queen of the Underworld.

Who, strangely, looked quite a lot like her. 

Demeter had told the truth - the woman on the throne resembled Arturia to an uncanny extent, though her hair was paler and her eyes golden instead of green. Though Arturia would never wear the gown she wore, a silky dress in a shade of such dark purple it almost looked black. She eyed Arturia. 

Arturia was trying to think of the right words to say to convince Persephone to give up the box of beauty when the goddess spoke. “No wonder Ishtar hates you so much, you look just like me. She always had a bit of a grudge against me, ever since she descended into the underworld – or rather, rudely gatecrashed my realm and overreacted when I hung her up on a meathook in return. She’s truly the worst.” The Queen of the Underworld propped her head on her hand and gazed at Arturia with profound curiosity.

Suddenly she said, “Do you love him, Eros?”

Arturia blinked. She hadn’t expected that question, though the answer came easily. “Yes.” 

“How interesting. I suppose it’s not so strange you’d fall in love with the god of love himself, but what’s truly odd is the extent to which he has fallen in love with you – an affliction that, to my knowledge, has never affected him before. You might say it’s the curse, but even a curse of unrequited love can’t compel someone to descend into the underworld. Only real love can do that.” 

Yes, Arturia thought. She’d completed these tasks because she wanted to live. She wanted to bring her child into the world, and she wanted to see the one she loved once again. 

Persephone turned her strange golden gaze away from Arturia. “Now where did I put that box of beauty?” She glanced at Arturia. “That is what Ishtar wanted you to get, isn’t it?”

Stunned, Arturia could only nod. 

Persephone handed Arturia an ivory box the same color as her hair. A carving of a skull surrounded by flowers adorned the top. “Whatever you do, don’t open it. That will break the seal and ruin the contents. Ishtar would throw a fit.” 

The goddess looked at Arturia, her hand resting on her chin. “He knew you’d be coming here, your Eros. He cannot see you face to face, as per the terms of the curse, but he knew from his mother that you would eventually come here here, and so he came to me offering quite the substantial sum for my cooperation in assisting you in completing your tasks. You are fortunate to have such a loving husband.” 

She paused a moment, thinking. Arturia felt like a mouse in the clutches of a hawk, pinned under her gaze. “I always hated my husband,” Persephone said. “He stole me, you know, right out from under my mother’s eyes. At least YOU got to say a proper goodbye to your people.” The goddess shook her head. “Little one, don’t take his love for granted. Not all of us are so lucky.”

Arturia nodded, thanked the goddess, and made her way out of the throne room. 

She went back through the seven gates, retrieving her possessions. She threw the biscuit at Cerberus, cradling Persephone’s box in the other hand. She gave the coin to the silent ferryman, who seemed rather surprised to see her again. 

Gradually, she let relief fill her. She was going to live. Ishtar’s power over her had been broken. She would live to give birth to her child, to undertake the long and challenging task of finding her husband again, to look after her kingdom and her people, to….

Fate is a strength thing. Never before had the king, graceful as a dancer from all of her martial training, ever misstepped. She’d stayed on her feet while wading through the chaos of battle, but as she disembarked from the boat on the River Styx into the land of the living, her foot caught and she tripped. The little ivory jar hit the ground, and the cover slid off. 

It wasn’t beauty that Persephone had put in the box. Instead she’d played a trick, a trap for her enemy, the vain goddess who’d trespassing upon her realm. A curse of oblivion, of eternal sleep. 

It was a curse fit for a goddess, and Arturia was only a mortal woman. 

__________

Gilgamesh and Ishtar were playing a very tense game of chess. Gilgamesh refused to let his mother out of his sight, intent on enforcing her promise to undo the curse once Arturia had completed her tasks. He could do little to help his beloved but this, and so he turned all of his attention towards Ishtar. He watched her as she sulkily shifted a rook into a different square. 

Gilgamesh noticed the last command seal on Ishtar’s hand fade almost before she did. His face split into a wide grin of triumph. “Now! Fulfill your promise.” 

Ishtar grumbled and rolled her eyes. He watched, arms crossed, as she undid the bards of the curse that bound them.

He in the realm of the gods and she in the underworld felt it at the same moment.   
Somewhere deep in their hearts, they had both wondered if perhaps the connection between them had only been the curse, and not real love. When the scaffolding of the curse was removed and the connection between them still intact.

Then Eros, called Gilgamesh by his wife, was gone. He flew out an open window, ready to search the world for his beloved. 

__________

He found her at the entrance to the underworld. 

She was unnaturally still, laying awkwardly where she had fallen. Had she completed her tasks, only to die suddenly from something else? 

He ran to her. Her eyes were closed, her face expressionless. He finally held her again, that same body he had felt on so many moonless nights, and yet she wasn’t there, not truly. She was limp as a rag doll in his hands, and he shook her gently. Gilgamesh heard himself cry out.

“Wake up.” He said, “Wake up.” He had a vague memory of his mother Ishtar saying _That’s the problem with mortals, they’re just so_ mortal…

Something fell on her face, and he realized he was crying. “Wake up,” he said again.   
___________

Love can be a miracle as well as a curse. Not due to the mechanations of gods and goddesses, but through the ordinary wonderment of two souls seeking union with each other. 

In the place where Arturia was, no sound or light could ever reach. She’d come under a spell of sleep fit for a goddess, locked in a world of darkness and dreams.   
An earthquake could not have woken her, nor could the blasting of a thousand trumpets made her so much as stir. She would have slept through the end of the world. 

Yet that sound, the soft sound, of a familiar voice begging her to wake up pierced through layers of darkness and prompted a response. 

__________

She stirred and opened her eyes. “You,” she said in wonderment. “You’re here.”

Then she seemed to recall all that had come to pass, and scowled at him playfully. “Why didn’t you tell me who you were? Why didn’t you tell me about the curse?”

He shook his head, still gazing at her. “It doesn’t matter now. My mother has lifted the curse, along with the Command Seals she placed upon you. You’re free.?

His mother. Ugh. “But she still won’t recognize our marriage, since I’m mortal and you’re a god-“ 

“No one who has survived a descent to the underworld can fail to become a goddess.” 

“Oh,” was all she said. She looked down at her shining body – so similar, and yet so different from what she had been before.

She remember something suddenly. “Gilgamesh,” she said, using her pet name for him. “I’m pregnant.” 

He gazed at her in stunned awe, and they might be any pair of lovers anyone marveling at the life they’d made. Arturia winced as she felt a sudden sensation below her navel – a small foot, perhaps, or an elbow. She grabbed Gilgamesh’s hand. “Here, feel,” she said. And he did. 

Later, they lay next to each other in their own bed once more.

“What should we name her?” Arturia asked. She was confident that the child was female, though she didn’t know why. “I’d rather not name her after your mother, I’ll tell you that much.” 

“Ha! I don’t wish that either.” Gilgamesh was thoughtful for a moment, and Arturia found herself wondering what he’d be like as a father. “Hedone is a good name.” Hedone, the old word for happiness. 

“Hmm,” Arturia replied. “I’m more fond of the name Mordred myself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! Thank you everyone for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve always loved the myth of Eros and Psyche. I especially appreciated that fact that the heroine in this myth was strong, brave, and smart – she wasn’t waiting to be saved by some heroic male, she was wandering the world and completing marvels in her quest to find her lost love. Rereading it, the character of Psyche put me in mind of another equally dynamic heroine. An the other titular character was a golden archer to begin with, so an AU wasn’t a huge jump. I'll be adapting the myth (fairly) faithfully for this fic, so seek it out if you want to understand the source material, or avoid it if you don't like spoilers. 
> 
> This is definitely very weird - I'm trying to write this in that omniscient mythological storyteller tone, but also be insightful and funny about it, so there will be deliberate anachronisms and questionable adaptations of Fate lore. 
> 
> I wrote the first draft of this stoned out of my mind on weed cookies, so that should give you a good idea of its origin story.


End file.
